The Fiery Mermaid
by thedornishmanswife
Summary: After 2 years on the Quiet Isle, Sandor is lured to Lorath by a song about a little bird and a hound which rings too true to be coincidence. The plot twists as the characters' motives are revealed. Rated M. Set after "A Feast for Crows." SanSan, Sansa, Arya, Gendry. Mentioned: Tommen, Bran, Lady Stoneheart / Catelyn.
1. Chapter 1 The Gravedigger

_**Disclaimer: These characters referenced are the creation of GRRM, the king of fiction. Long may he reign! **  
_

_*****Thanks to all of you who take the time to leave a review. Your kind words, suggestions, and questions make this game of fanfic so much more fun! Double thanks to those who follow the story and have added it to their favorites! *****_

_Why does no one ever check the socks? _The gravedigger shook his head and pocketed two more gold dragons. Of the four bodies he buried today, three had undiscovered coin. Most were silver or coppers, but, in his two years on the Quiet Isle, he had come upon quite a bit of gold and jewels, too. Thieves always concealed their valuables best, but since the start of Winter even the common folk had taken to sewing coins into small clothes and linings and employing hidden pockets.

After he'd rolled his first few bodies into the ground and heard the familiar jingle, he began shaking and checking them, and the more he discovered, the more carefully he checked. _They won't be needing this where they're going, _he told himself, _but someday I might_. He had discovered a small, empty coin purse on a young girl one day, and began keeping the coins in it. It filled quickly, and soon he began to separate his stashes; coppers in a wooden box near the digging tools in the shed, silvers in a small pouch behind a loose stone in the wall of the sept, gold in the coin purse hidden under a loose board in his room, and jewels in a pack under the hay in Stranger's stall. He had few occasions to spend any of it, since his food and clothes were provided by the Faith, and there were no whores, wagering, or winesinks on the Quiet Isle. A handful of times, he sneaked out to a winesink, but he drank less than ever and always came back. He once mused that he'd managed to accumulate more wealth in his novice robes than he ever did in his armor. Excepting, of course, for the money he'd won at the Tourney of Hand, and lost to the fucking Brotherhood Without Banners.

The memory made him bitter, and as he dug the last grave, his mind wouldn't clear, flashes of the past beating on him colder and harder than the sleet that had begun falling. The wolf-bitch, the Little Bird, the Imp, the Mountain, faces of people he killed, regrets, and mistakes whirled around him. He envied the dead their quieted minds. He dug more furiously, sweating under his robes despite the bitter chill, but the thoughts just came faster, the memories more vivid. He kicked the body into its grave and instantly regretted it. _Fuck!_ _Tonight_, he resolved, _a winesink._

The Elder Brother was so busy attending the ill and dying, that he'd hardly notice, and he was already in the habit of ignoring the gravedigger's occasional disappearances. Still, the gravedigger didn't want to head back up to his room or the sept, mostly for fear he'd waver in his resolve and spend the night sober, fighting a room full of ghosts of his past. _Finding a buyer for the jewelry would just slow me down_, he decided. So, he took the heavy box of coppers. Years ago, he would have mocked a man who arrived at a winesink with half a stone's weight in coppers, but times were hard, and coin was coin.

As he settled into his corner seat at the winesink, a slim, black-haired serving girl had just finished serving the table next to him, and greeted him with an empty tray. "Always a pleasure to serve a Brother of the Faith! What can I get you?" He sat the heavy box on the table and opened it, "Two flagons of Dornish Red, and you'll have to count the coin yourself. Then, I want to be left alone for the rest of the evening." She frowned until he finished, "Take another flagon's cost for your troubles." She smiled, and began counting the coins onto the tray. She made quick work of counting, and within a short time, she was back with the wine. The crowd was growing, and he knew that could only mean there would be a singer. _Gods, I'll need to get pissed drunk if I'm going to sit through a singer._

The singer was a soft-looking, handsome boy, with ringlets of blonde hair falling into green eyes. _Pretty enough to be a fucking Lannister, _the gravedigger thought, as he drained the wine cup and poured again. The room quieted as the boy played a soft, short tune on his small harp. He stood and began with a very somber speech, "I usually begin by asking for requests, but I have a request from a land far away to play a special song. Tonight is the first time this song has ever been sung in all the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. " The ladies were already swooning, and the men's attentions captured for the moment. _Well, at least it's not "The Rains of Castamere" or worse, "Florian and Jonquil." _

"You see, I've just returned from my travels, where I met a bard known only as the Fiery Mermaid," the crowd was pulled in further, and he began speaking dreamily with a faraway look, " . . . A maiden with eyes like the sea and hair like the sunset, beautiful but a tormented and lonely soul. "

Echoes of "Why?" filled the room. He continued, "Her life is filled with so much pain and grief that her only release is her songs. She has lost all-her family, her fortune, her home, and even her true love. Her only remaining gift is her Maidenhood which she has vowed to maintain until her death. She has written many beautiful songs, but she asked me to sing this particular one on her behalf her in the Seven Kingdoms. Could I play it for you all?"

There came cries of "Yes" and "Please do." Some of the women had already dreamily cocked their heads . _Oh, this lad is going to drown in coin tonight. _"The song is called, 'The Little Bird and the Hound'." The gravedigger almost laughed. _Here I am trying to forget both of those things: a little bird and life as a Hound. What will his next song be called, "The Mountain and the Fire"? Fuck, now this blonde bugger even has my attention. _

The melody was mournful, even without words. The song began by telling the story of a restless little red bird, bored by life in the woods where she lived who rode out into the great forest on the horns of a stag which was actually a lion wearing a stag's skin. When he caged her, she mistook his motive, believing he saw her as precious, blinded as she was by the gold of her cage bars. Soon, she saw his blood-stained teeth and understood that she was to become a meal. The pride of lions kept a vicious old hound dog who fell in love with the bird's song and beauty. She fell in love with his gentle strength and that love gave him the courage to escape. As he pried open her cage for them to run away together, he looked wild, shaking and thrashing at the cage bars, and she was too scared to fly away with him. She sang to him one last time, and he ran off without her, angry.

The gravedigger was getting hot and dizzy, and a little nauseous. _I've only had half a flagon, it can't be the wine._ The scarf covering his face and his hood weren't helping. The middle part of the song told of how the lions decided she wasn't a big enough meal to be worthy of them. So, they gave her to a lion with broken legs who couldn't hunt for himself. She thought herself rescued when a man with small soft hands took her from the broken lion, but he turned her black with ink and handled her too often. She finally broke free of them all and went searching for her hound. The gravedigger leaned forward in his seat, tense, fists clenching, toes curled in his boots.

In the final verses, the bird finds the dog's grave, singing a dirge there, then flying off to a warmer place where she was finally safe, but always missing the woods that were her home. The singer then stood and spoke, a last line, "of all that she had lost and all that she found, the thing she cherished most in life always was her hound." The singer cried, and the crowd cheered, and coins poured in from all directions. He announced that he would need a short break after such a taxing performance, and conversations began all around about love and friendship, loss and regret, sacrifice and duty, all the usual topics enjoyed by most drunks.

The gravedigger followed the singer and the serving girl outside, behind the winesink. He waited a moment, as the boy whispered in her ear some nonsense about not having regrets. He watched the boy's hand go down the front of her dress, and cleared his throat. The girl blushed and ran off. "Um, now tell me brother, what grievous sin have I committed that brings you out into this cold night . . ." He stopped talking when felt the tip of the dagger. "Answer me, boy or I'll cut that pretty voice right out of your throat. Where'd you hear that song?"

"I . . .It was like I said . . . when I started the song . . . the Fiery Mermaid . . ." The dagger went deeper into the singer's throat, blood began to trickle, and the boy's bladder let go. The stink of blood and urine was rising in the cold. The Hound growled, "You and I both know there's no such thing as mermaids! Where'd you hear the fucking song?"

"She's not! Not a mermaid, I mean! Gods don't kill me! Please! She's a girl. . . a woman. . . speaks the common tongue . . . from the North maybe . . . red hair, blue eyes." He pulled the dagger back but left it poised and flashing in the singer's line of vision. "Where'd you meet this girl?"

"Across the narrow sea," he squeaked. "Oh, Gods, you're him! You're not dead!" The recognition flashed in the boy's eyes.


	2. Chapter 2 The Narrow Sea

"And, exactly who do you think I am, boy?" The Hound's question was threatening.

"Please, brother, my apologies. You're a good man of the Faith, whose face I've never seen. Let me go, and I swear I'll never tell her I found you."

"You think it's her I'm hiding from?" He barked a laugh. "Found me! Like I'm some lost puppy she's been searching for."

"She has been searching. That is why she composed the song, and gave me the money, and offered me the reward . . . ," the singer mumbled to his boots.

"What money? What reward?" He shook the boy, whose response was a stutter, "Well, she paid for my passage to Westeros and gave me coin enough for return passage across the Narrow Sea for two men. If I succeed in reuniting you, she has offered me a songbook of 20 of her songs that have never been sung." And then, he saw desire in singer's eyes, "Oh, a man could make a career on what's in that book, I'd wager. Did you see their faces tonight? New songs, new women, new coin . . . ".

"And, what makes you think that I'm the man she seeks?"

"She said that the right man would find me. He'd ask me where I'd learned the song and likely try to kill me."

The Hound dropped the young dreamer. The girl's judgment of his character was spot on. He inhaled slowly, "So, where can I find this Fiery Mermaid?"

"Lorath. . . . l could take you to her, brother, if you wish. She gave me the money for the passage."

"Aye. You said that. Do you know why she is seeking me out?"

"I do not. But, I suppose . . ."

"Don't ever suppose, boy. Supposing is dangerous. Go fetch your belongings while I get the rest of my wine for the road. No one will be begging for any more tonight songs from a boy with wet breeches and a bloody neck."

The men rode double into the silent night to collect the gravedigger's belongings from the Quiet Isle. The boy offered that his name was Wenton, but the Hound just grunted, never bothering to ask if that was a first name or a family name.

The Hound made quick business of packing up his few belongings, stopping first at the sept, then his small room. "Wash up and put this on." The Hound commanded, handing over a brown novice robe, "You've taken a vow of silence. Meet me at the stable when you're done." He left to collect his a small pack from the stable, and the men set off to find a ship.

For the most of the journey across the sea, neither man spoke a word. The young singer had such sea sickness he could barely raise his head. The Hound spent most of his time tending his horse in the ship's hold. He kept his hood up and his face covered with his scarf the whole journey. In the silence, with no wineskin to hide in, his mind was not quiet. _Why is she seeking me? What the hell did that song mean? Is this a jape?  
_

He decided that the song was the girl's way of finding him without revealing herself or him. _Clever little bird._ He accepted that she hadn't come with him because he had scared her, and for once, he didn't blame his face. He resolved to try to control himself, his urges, his temper, and his sharp, loose tongue. He had worked on those things with the Elder Brother's help, but could use more practice. He would offer her his sword, beg her, if necessary, to accept his service. W_hat then? Bring her home to Westeros? Watch her marry another? Ask for her hand myself?_ The last thoughts made his head swim.

It had been so long since he'd seen her. He had changed so much, and he wondered how she had changed. Of course she would be more beautiful. _Is she truly still a maiden? Why should I even wonder about her maidenhood? I told the little wolf-bitch I should have taken it, but __I just wanted her to get angry enough to kill me. I_t was no true confession. Was it? He knew that he couldn't have enjoyed hurting her, but even now he knew he would have enjoyed having her if she would have consented, and that still brought him shame.

He heard the Elder Brother's counsel in his mind, "The Hound is dead and all his sins, shames, and hurts all died with him. You are reborn, and this new life is your gift from the Mother. Use this second chance, this new life, for good. Pray to the Mother to help you become the kind of man your own Lady mother would have been proud of." He decided that at this point his best prayer would be that Wenton never mention that mess with the dagger behind the winesink.

"We make port tomorrow, boy."

The singer nodded, scared to respond. "It's alright. No one's listening to us, they're all too busy readying the ship. Tell me about her."

The boy tried to speak, but his voice crackled from such a long lack of use. The Hound handed over his own waterskin. "Thank you, brother," he croaked. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything you know. Or can you only sing songs that others have written for you?" He said it without thinking, and chastised himself for not practicing choosing his words.

Ignoring the insult, Wenton answered, "Well. She is beautiful, and she is desired by most every man in Lorath. Men, including the wealthy and the powerful, have proposed marriage, but she has rejected them all. She trusts no one, and doesn't encourage any man's affections. She is elusive, mysterious, and the highest paid singer in the history of the Free Cities."

Admiration filled the boy's voice and eyes as he continued, "Her performances are understated, no introductions, no explanations, just song. Most of her own original songs are sad, and it is said that her voice has made men cry after a single note. One of her most requested songs is "The Love of Asnas and Rodnas," in which girl whose cries into the sea each night, praying her tears will reach her lost lover on the other side. Commoners in love! Brilliant!"

The Hound simply said, "Go on. "

"My favorite song of hers is a bit naughty. It's about a huntsman who finds an injured maiden alone in the woods in a storm. He wipes her blood with his handkerchief and gives her his muddy cloak to keep her dry. He returns her safely to her home, where in a fortnight she is to be married to a high Lord. On the day of the wedding, she tucks the handkerchief into her dress to hold at her heart as she is married. After the wedding and bedding, the bride sneaks to her wardrobe, naked! She puts on nothing but the huntsman's dirty cloak and prefers it to the golden cloak her husband placed on her shoulders! Oh, how people cheer that one, impossible as it is! I mean, no woman would truly prefer a rough huntsman over a high Lord! Some have taken it to have another meaning, that the blood on the handkerchief symbolizes her maiden's blood on the bed sheets, and that what she really wished was that the huntsman would have. . . ."

The boy winked but was met with a flat, "I get the meaning. Go on."

"Her most exciting song is a blending of historical figures and events in which a queen falls secretly in love with the king's most loyal guard. The king goes mad and asks the guard to brave a pit of green dragon's fire to prove his loyalty. When the guard hesitates, the king pushes him into the pit. The forlorn queen poisons the king's wine to rid the kingdom of his madness, but she feels she will take no pleasure in life without the guard. So, she drinks the poison remaining in the King's cup and dies! So tragic! Genius! Is it not?"

He just stared at the singer.

The excited boy needed no further encouragement. "Such talent! That's why she's drowning in coin! Her rooms are well-furnished and overlook the sea. Her dresses and jewelry are of the finest quality, though I'd venture most were gifts. She keeps two serving girls and a large guardsman. The girls are young and pretty. While I was there, one let me touch . . . . ah, that part doesn't matter. "

"Tell me about the guard."

"Oh. He frightens me. He is a young sellsword, an imposing figure, as tall as you, but young, strong, and swift. He is her constant companion and the only person with whom she regularly dines. He appears to be loyal and quite devoted to her service, though serving girls claim he is secretly in love with her. The say that once, when she took ill, he slept on the floor in hall outside her bedroom door for many nights, even though both serving girls were already attending her inside the room."

He didn't know why, but the Hound thought that to be very bad news.


	3. Chapter 3 Welcome to Lorath

It was as if Winter never came to Lorath. The warm, salty air drew warm, salty sweat out of all the island's inhabitants. "So, where can a man find a bath in this city?" The limping Hound led Stranger down the port road, following the singer whose mood had visibly lifted the moment they disembarked.

"Oh. There's a bathhouse just a bit up the road. The ladies there will attend all your needs. "

The angry Hound grasped a handful of the boy's tunic, "I'm not looking for whores, boy! I stink!"

"No! No, I know. I mean I know you're not looking for whores, not that you stink." He chose his words more carefully, "It's just that life is different in Lorath, more pleasing to the senses. There are no whores at the bathhouse, I assure you. The ladies there will cut your hair, your fingernails, your toenails, and trim that beard. Even the horse will be groomed and attended while you bathe."

"It takes much longer to groom this horse than it does to dunk me in tub of cold water."

"Not here." He began singing a song in the Lorathi tongue.

"Spare me. I have no ear for music."

The poor singer guffawed. "You meant that as a jest, right?" He motioned toward the Hound's missing ear.

"No. I hadn't." He responded dryly.

The groom at the bathhouse stables was a slow-moving, gentle boy. Stranger went with him almost easily. _Poor horse, he must be tired from the voyage. _

The bathhouse was an odd place to the Hound. The common area was decorated in marble, gold, velvets, and silks. _Looks a bit like one of Littlefinger's establishments but smells better, and no one is naked. _ Wenton did the Hound the favor of requesting him a tub attendant who spoke the common tongue. "I'm going to find you some Lorathi attire. I'll be back before you're done."

"Aren't you going to bathe, boy?"

"I'll bathe later. I'm certain I can get the Lady's serving girls to help me. Beside, I'm not the one who needs to make a good impression in the doorway." He winked.

Soon, a muscular, brown-haired girl came out to greet the big man and led him to his bath. As he followed her down the hall, he could see that the bathing rooms were filled with flowers, statues, and paintings, and each room held a single stone tub and opened to a terrace. _This is more to Renly's tastes than mine. I may not look like the Knight of the Flowers, but I'd wager I'll smell like him before this day is done._

The bathing girl began asking questions, "Would you like a musician?"

"While I bathe? No!" _Who would enjoy musician during a bath?_

"And do you have any preferences of what you would like in your bath?"

"Water. Hot, if you can. And soap."

The girl appeared to be stifling a smile. "We have many kinds of oils and salts to choose from."

"I'm not a leg of mutton. I don't require salting or oiling. Just soap."

The girl smiled, and suggested, "Perhaps, ser, you would give me your permission to make selections for you based on my experience and judgment."

He began wondering how badly he needed this bath, but his inhale reminded him how desperate he was. "Alright!" He conceded, "If you stop calling me 'Ser,' you can throw whatever spices you prefer into the stew pot with me."

"Certainly. Bathing robes are behind the changing screen. The blue ones are the largest. Cleansing wines are on the side table. The girls will fetch the water, and then I'll be back." She made a sort of a curtsying gesture and left.

He stepped behind the screen and began discarding his robes. The blue robe he chose was stretched across his arms and shoulders, but would do for the short time he'd be using it. He made his way to the side table. _Free wine. Maybe Lorath isn't such a bad place._ But all four of the wines tasted awful. All were white, each marinating a different herb: mint, fennel , lovage, and parsley. He realized to his disappointment that they were intended to cleanse the mouth.

Once the tub was filled, the girl returned with two baskets. One was filled with several small glass bottles and jars and the other with razors, shears, and other objects the man didn't recognize. After her potions were added to the water, she asked, "Are you ready to begin?"

"I'm perfectly capable of washing myself."

"This is Lorath. Life here is not simply about capability. It's about pleasure."

"Aye. Well, then, it would be my pleasure to wash myself, girl."

"Your friend has told me that you are a man of the Faith, so I'll keep my clothes on, stay outside the tub, and not touch you anywhere indiscreet."

She seemed determined, so he gave her a tight nod, disrobed, and entered the water. The water smelled of musk and lemons, and some other scents he'd never encountered. She began washing his back with a scratchy sponge.

"So many scars. You must have been a great warrior before you joined the Faith."

He ignored her comment, and she took the hint, working slowly in silence. She scrubbed the black from his fingers and feet, softened the callous areas, and trimmed the nails. She left his face and hair for last, washing both slowly and carefully. He kept his eyes closed, uncomfortable with anyone touching either. _Except for Sansa_. He remembered her hand on his face, warm, delicate fingers. _No one had ever done that to me._ Just then, the bath attendant interrupted his thoughts.

"How would you like it cut?"

"Leave it long enough to cover the burned parts. Oh, and the ears." He remembered the boy's earlier quip and quickly corrected himself, "Ear."

"And the beard, trim or shave?"

"Trim."

"And the rest of you?"

"Needs neither trimming nor shaving." He said too seriously.

She laughed. "You're a man of the Faith, so I guess no one will be looking . . . elsewhere."

She was slow and thorough. "Now, I'll leave you to your privacy to finish washing . . . elsewhere. Bath sheets are here." She patted a folded pile. "Lay face down on the cushions when you're done, and cover anything you don't want massaged with the bath sheet."

"For what?"

"I have some oils to massage into your skin, to help you relax."

So, he finished washing himself, half relieved and half disappointed that his manhood had basically slept through the whole Lorathi bathing experience. He wound the bath sheet around his hips, tied the loose ends in a sloppy knot, and laid face down where the girl had directed.

When the girl returned, she brought with her the clothes Wenton had procured and hung them on the ends of the changing screen. She spent over an hour rubbing him from end to end with various oils. _I'm going to smell like a whore. Even worse, like Varys. _ At some point, he nodded off, and woke up alone to the sound of the door shutting. Something smelled strongly of sage, and when he realized it was his armpits, he rolled his eyes.

The Hound found the Lorathi attire ridiculous. A new yellow sleeveless tunic left him feeling exposed. His new smallclothes were black and ended at his upper thighs! The new black breeches laced at a low waist and were a bit tighter in the legs and bottom than he was accustomed to, but the fabric stretched, and he was happy that his disfigured thigh wasn't visible through them. He slid on his own black boots, and checked himself in the bathing room's dressing mirror. He hadn't seen himself in a long mirror since King's Landing, and he noticed that the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest were still strong, although one arm bore the scar Beric Dondarrion had given him. _Turns out putting bodies in the ground keeps the shoulders as strong as swinging a sword. _His stomach was tighter and flatter than ever. _Well, it's no wonder, with no wine to drink and the simple foods served on the Quiet Isle._ _I'm wearing the colors of my house_, he thought, as he fastened his sword belt.

He found Wenton waiting for him in the common area and asked him, "How much do I owe for the bath and this . . .?" He motioned to his new clothes.

"The cost of our passage was much less than the lady anticipated. I paid for it all, and the horse's grooming, with the excess."

"You wasted your money on the horse, boy. I doubt he let anyone near him." He chuckled, but almost to the Hound's disappointment, he found Stranger bathed and groomed. More upsetting was that the giant warhorse had yellow flowers braided into his mane and tail when he was returned to his owner. _Is that perfume I smell? Who in seven hells would perfume a horse? _"You're getting old and soft." He chided the horse, and maybe himself.


	4. Chapter 4 Sansa's House

As they passed a crowded market, the singer suggested, "It's a Lorathi custom for guests not to arrive empty-handed."

"I'm no expert on manners, boy, here or elsewhere, but I've no problem buying the girl a gift."

"Good idea!" The singer made it sound as if it was the Hound's own thought. "Flowers?" He suggested.

"No."

They found a jewelry broker's stall, and the singer appeared surprised. All the pieces looked delicate in the Hound's huge hands. He found a gold locket with an image of the Mother adorning the front cover, and selected a gold necklace to match. He opened his pack of pilfered jewels to the broker, and the broker selected six pieces of jewelry he'd accept in trade for his wares. The Hound selected an inlaid wooden box lined with blue silk in which to present the piece, and, making no attempt to negotiate the price, nodded. The broker nodded, and the wordless exchange was complete.

When the pair finally arrived at the seaside residence of the Fiery Mermaid, it was midafternoon.

The little singer had a brief exchange with the stable boy in Lorathi, and they headed toward the door of the narrow, three-story, white stone house. The Hound noticed that his travelling partner was beginning to behave in a nervous manner, and asked the boy, "You alright, boy? Or are you just excited to see your serving girl?"

"Yes!" A thought suddenly occurred to the young man. "Let's play a jape on her! You knock at the door, and I'll pop out from behind you and surprise her when she answers."

"You're a peculiar one." The Hound turned his back on the smaller man, wiped his sweaty hands on his new breeches, and let the knocker fall three times.

When the serving girl answered the door, she looked past the big man to the figure standing behind him. Opening the door wider, she curtsied and cooed, "M'lady's dear sister. You are very welcome here!"

Shocked, the Hound saw Arya Stark standing behind him in Wenton's clothes, grinning.

"Oh, M'lady will be so excited to see you again! She's at the Sept this hour, but she'll be returning at any moment. Has it been eight moons?" The serving girl continued speaking, not waiting for an answer. Arya ushered the man's large body into the entrance way. He was so lost in his thoughts that his feet followed automatically. "You and your companion must be tired and hungry from your travels. Let me fetch you a bath and something to eat. Your sister will want you to have every comfort. . . ." She kept speaking as she walked, not noticing that no one followed.

"You! How?" The Hound was frozen in the entrance way, a few steps from the door.

"Come, sit, and I'll explain." She began leading him

Just then, the door opened. A strapping, raven-haired young man silently held the heavy door open for Sansa. She looked up and saw the Hound standing in her own entrance way, and she collapsed.

For the moment that he saw her standing, the girl was more beautiful than ever. She looked healthier, taller, and her body had taken on the curves of a woman, rather than a blossoming girl. Her face was more graceful, and fair but not pale. _How could I have ever left her?_

Just as she went down, the young man caught her in his heavily muscled arms, and carried her inside. He said nothing to the travelers, just proceeded up the stairs to the Lady's chambers, with Arya on his heels, and the Hound limping up behind them all. He placed her silently and gently on the bed, and turned back toward the doorway. As the Hound entered the room, the younger man barred the door with his body, and the older man took a step backward.

"You've not been invited to enter my Lady's chambers, ser."

"I'm no ser. Move out of my way."

"Clearly not, but let me explain the way things are done around here, ser. I do not like dogs. Dogs are trouble. They sneak, uninvited, into beds at night. They lurk in dark hallways, waiting for attention. Their dirty mouths bear unwelcome kisses. I know all about you and your past habits. She may welcome you, but I am watching." His tone was icily threatening.

"Don't call me ser, boy. I know a bit about your habits, too. You think you're better than me? You're jealous of my sleeping in her bed because it's all you dreamed of while you slept on the floor outside her room. I'll admit I'm a dog. What of you? "

"I'll call you whatever pleases me, ser. You'll accept it until the Lady asks me to do otherwise, ser. And you'll head back down the stairs until you're invited further, ser."

The Hound's hand went for his sword pommel, and the young man's did the same.

"Stop!" Sansa's voice came weakly from the bed. "Let him pass!" The Hound pushed passed the guard, and knelt next to the young lady's bed, kissing her hand.

"You're alive!" Tears came running down her cheeks as she sat up and stepped off the bed onto the floor.

"Aye. I heard your song, and I came . . . ."

"What song?" Puzzled blue eyes stared into gray.

Both heads spun toward Arya, who looked guilty. "Oh, I may have stolen a few pages from your songbook when I was here last."

"Arya! What song is he speaking of?"

"The one about the stupid little bird and the stupider hound. Gods I can't believe I managed to sing it without laughing." She chuckled.

"You sang it? Aloud? In public? That was private! That book was never meant to be read. Or sung!"

The girl produced some wrinkled parchment pages from her tunic. "Here, then. Make sure you hide it better next time. Maybe on a taller shelf."

The Hound interrupted the arguing sisters, "Why am I here?" He sounded disappointed and confused.

"Oh, you're here to marry her." Arya gestured at Sansa.


	5. Chapter 5 Arya's Proposal

"Marry?"

"Marry?"

Sansa and the Hound voiced their doubts in harmony.

"Would you both just shut up and give me time to explain! But first, get one of your girls to bring us up some food before we all starve to death. Have the smarter one do it, not that one who met us at the door. Oh, and somebody get that hulking eavesdropper out of the doorway."

Everyone's attention turned to the red-faced guard.

"Kellan, would you please excuse us? We have some delicate personal matters to discuss." Sansa's voice was apologetic.

"As my lady wishes."

"And Kellan, could you kindly ask Veena to send up something from the kitchen for my guests?"

The guard bowed curtly, and turned on a heel, exiting quickly.

"I don't like him." Arya volunteered, cocking her head toward the empty doorway.

"Arya! You hardly know him!" Sansa scolded.

_I agree with the little she-wolf on that one_. The Hound kept his thoughts to himself.

They moved to the table, Arya bouncing into her chair, Sansa sitting as gracefully as a queen on a throne, and the heavy Hound thudding into his seat. He decided to listen after coming this far.

"So, after I last saw you," Arya motioned to Sansa, "I went to Westeros on some business. By the way, Littlefinger is dead."

"Arya!"

"He was trying to kill our own cousin! And have you forgotten what he did to you?" Arya glared at her sister, and continued. "Besides, I didn't do it. I'm not allowed to kill anyone I know. Anyway, the Vale is now safely back in Lord Robert Arryn's tiny shaking hands, for all the good it will do him."

Sansa shook her head, while Arya continued, "While I was there, I corresponded with Bran. He is relieved that you are alive and desperate to continue rebuilding Winterfell, but this Winter has been long and hard, and there is no coin to be had, unless you're a Lannister or owed money by a Lannister. He mentioned that, with your marriage to Lord Tyrion now annulled, he'd like to see you married to a Northman . . . ."

"The Hound is from the South. So, there goes your plan." Sansa interrupted, speaking as if the man wasn't there and dismissing the plan. "And I won't take some Umber or Karstark or whoever Bran has planned. No! No! I won't be traded like a horse ever again. I won't do it. Not for family or duty or honor . . . ."

"Calm down and hear me out, Sansa. I told him that you had re-married while you were in exile. You thought the whole family dead and could seek no one's permission to marry. I've never described nor named your new husband in my letters, despite Bran's asking thrice. He has offered to gift you and his new good-brother the Dreadfort, now that the Bolton line has been extinguished."

"But Arya, there is no husband! And the Dreadfort is an awful place."

"Gods you're stupid, Sansa! You're free to marry whomever you choose, whenever you choose, and to bring him home as a Lord to your fancy new castle whenever you'd like. Your sons and grandsons will be lords and bannermen to Winterfell."

Sansa brought her hand to her lips in shock, realizing what her sister had done for her. "Oh."

Just then, Veena arrived with a platter of fruit, cheeses, and olives, and bread apologizing, "Dinner is not yet done. Should I bring some wine?"

"Yes!" Three voices echoed.

Arya dove into the food and continued speaking as chewed. "Also, while I was there, I discovered that the Lannisters seated some Frey at Clegane keep."

The Hound leaned toward Arya, looking angry, but maintaining his silence. He grabbed a piece of bread.

She explained. "After the war, there was a mess of inheritance claims, men fighting over property like vultures over carrion. To maintain the peace, the crown itself ruled that any overlord who makes an improper distribution of property must make restitution to the rightful heirs in the form of coin or property. The rightful heir to Clegane Keep is Sandor Clegane, and the restitution must come from House Lannister, who assumed him dead too quickly and gave his lands to that thrice damned Frey. So, I wrote Tommen a letter in your name." She motioned toward him and pulled a decree from the pocket of her jerkin with the King's seal on it.

"His response was," she waved the paper and began reading, "Dear Lord Clegane, a grievous mistake was made by house Lannister. As the rightful heir to House Clegane, you may choose to pledge fealty to house Lannister and return to your father's lands, or you may choose to receive payment in coin for the value of your estate. As you took no knightly vows, you are no oathbreaker, and your return to the Seven Kingdoms is most welcomed. Your years of loyal service to our family are not forgotten."

_Would that I could forget._

Arya smiled and handed him the document. "Don't you see? The Lannisters are the only people in Westeros with coin! Enough coin to make good on that offer. Enough coin to restore the North. And, as you know, they always pay their debts."

An uncomfortable silence followed. "So, you've worked it all out, then. Have you?" The Hound asked, nodding. "I'd bend the knee to a wolf instead of a lion and my coin would restore your North. I'd have a castle greater than my Father's home, in the North, far from the Lannisters. Your sister would return home, and you could go about your business of changing faces and lying to people."

Arya had a satisfied smile.

He continued. "And those future bannermen of House Stark, our sons and grandsons. Did your septa ever tell you how they get made? Because she," he pointed to Sansa," isn't interested in doing that with me. So, leave her be. She can stay here in Lorath, singing her little heart out. I'll guard her myself if she'll have my sword. When the day comes that she finds some pretty, charming lad who she can actually love, he'll become her Lord of the Dreadfort. Your brother can have the use my coin in the meantime, on loan, and when the time comes to return to the North, just give me some cottage in the North woods where I can be left alone."

Veena arrived with three flagons of wine and three cups. The Hound snatched one off her serving tray and began drinking from it.


	6. Chapter 6 Sandor's Offer

"Surely that's a jape!" Arya said in shock. "You'd let some other man have her? After all your pining away for her, laying against that tree when you thought you were dying, crying about how she didn't give you the song, and how you should have . . . ."

"Enough!" He roared, slamming his hand on the table.

The little she-wolf wasn't intimidated. "Pretty little bird, blah blah blah." She mocked him. "You're in love with her! Stop denying it. You chased her all around King's Landing, saving her arse for something or someone. Don't pretend it wasn't for yourself. Why'd you kiss her in her room that night of the Battle of the Blackwater?"

"I never kissed her." He denied it calmly as a matter of simple fact.

"You did! Sansa told me all about it. Tell him, Sansa!"

Sansa nodded.

"I never kissed you, girl." He said gently but firmly.

"Yes. In my room, I remember. I closed my eyes, and you kissed me. You were too drunk to remember."

"No. I remember it well, drunk as I was. You closed your eyes because you couldn't bear to look at me. I demanded a song, and you sang. If I would have kissed you, I promise I would never have forgotten it, and I would never have been able to stop myself . . . ." _His throat was tightening._

"Told you! He's in love!" Arya interrupted.

Sansa stood up and walked over to his chair. "I didn't close my eyes because of your face. I was long-accustomed to you by then. Didn't you realize that, after the song, when I touched your face?"

His face grew hot. She was staring into his eyes, seeking some recognition, trying to read his memory through his eyes.

"I closed my eyes because I thought you were about to kiss me. So many times I've thought of that kiss. It was a dream, then? My imagination?"

"Seven hells!" Arya's voice reminded them of her presence in the room.

The Hound was determined to change the subject. He turned to Arya. "You played a dangerous game girl, calling yourself Wenton and feeding me some horse shit about a Fiery Mermaid, singing and pissing yourself, seasick and that bit with the serving girl behind the winesink. "

Arya bowed her head. "You fell for it. I take credit for all but the seasickness. That couldn't be helped. And Wenton was an exceedingly clever guise for a girl who 'went on' quite a journey to bring you here." She turned to Sansa, "As for you," she accused, "all your stupid little songs are about him. The night I found you here in Lorath, you whispered to me in the bed that you wished that he . . . ."

"Arya!" She screamed. "That was a secret between sisters! Please don't!" She pleaded.

Arya walked over to her sister, who was still standing at the Hound's chair, "Tell him how you snuggled up under his white cloak on the floor after he left you, even though you had a perfectly good feather bed and a blanket not five paces away! Oh, and that handkerchief. Where is that bloody handkerchief you drag around?" Arya reached into the top of her sister's dress, near Sansa's left breast. She yanked out a white handkerchief and threw it on the table. He immediately recognized it as his own.

Wordless and defeated, Sansa began crying, again.

"Out!" He proclaimed, and dragged Arya by the shoulder to the door.

"I'm going, but not because you told me to go. My bath is getting cold." She closed the door behind her.

He turned to Sansa, gently wiping her tears with a new handkerchief. "You are too trusting, Little Bird. I was a dangerous man who held a dagger to your throat, and neither of us should ever forget that. I did a shit job of protecting you, and when I thought I was dying, it was my great regret. I am old, broken, and bound for seven hells. Still, I'm offering you whatever you'd have of me. I could stay here, keep you safe, be your sword and your shield. I might lurk in dark corners, but I promise to never let myself into your bed chambers, drunk or otherwise. I won't hurt you. Just tell me what you want. Do you want to stay here, or do you want go home?"


	7. Chapter 7 Sansa's Offer

"I don't know what I want, yet. There is just so much to consider. I'm sorry, Sandor." His own name sounded strange in her voice.

"I'm in no hurry."

"You will stay here with me in Lorath for a while I decide, will you not?"

"I'm not going anywhere soon, Little Bird." His tone was reassuring.

"We could get to know each other better to make my decision easier. I'm loath to be desired for my claim, after Joffrey and Tyrion, and then Littlefinger and Harry. I'm sure, at least, that you don't care for my claim."

"No. I've never desired a lordship or a castle. I was a novice on the Quiet Isle before your sister found me."

Her jaw dropped open.

"What? Surprised?"

"Quite." She nodded, seeming impressed.

"Chaste as the Maiden for almost two years." He laughed. "Though, I never intended to become a Septon, no more than I ever intended to marry." He breathed a heavy, ragged sigh. "Nor do I intend to marry you. You're a fool for considering it, and I'm a fool for wishing it. I've offered you a way out of this mess without wasting your life with a maimed cur. Take it, girl. Go and have the life you dreamed of before you met Joffrey, a fancy house with a handsome Lord, full of singing and flowers and feasts."

"But, you wish it?"

_That's what she heard? _"What man wouldn't wish for you to be his own, Sansa? You're lovely, young, accomplished, gentle . . . too good for the likes of me. Gods, too good for any man, I'd say. I still can hardly believe that the Imp left you a maid."

"So, you are willing to get to know each other better to help me decide?"

He was getting frustrated. "Girl, do you understand that I am not the fucking Imp?" His temper threatened to boil over. "I may have lived with Septons, but believe me when I tell you that I will be no Septon in the marriage bed. I will not leave you with your maidenhead, and you'll get no annulment. If I wed you, I will bed you," he emphasized, "every night and sometimes during the day." She needed to understand that he was a grown man and that this was no game. He bent to look straight into her in her young, blushing face. "Is this what you want above you each night in your marriage bed?" He gestured to his face.

"I told you that I don't know, yet. Are you not willing?"

He wanted to shake her, but he decided that she'd come to the right decision after some time. "Aye. I'm willing to get to know each other. You'll soon enough find me the most miserable boor you've ever been cursed to be acquainted with, and move on from this idiotic notion. Then, you'll find a suitable husband. Maybe you can write a song about it." He chided.

She smiled and stepped closer to him, and he realized she wanted him to embrace her. It was awkward for him to put his arms around anyone, and as he hugged her, he felt oddly tempted to kiss the top of her head. Instead, he immediately decided to make an example of the moment. "I'm not Lord Eddard, girl. I'll not be your father. Either I'll be your servant or your husband. If you're smart, you'll choose the first, but in the meantime, that's what we'll suppose." He stepped back from her, "And servants don't hug their Ladies."

"Kellan does, sometimes." She volunteered innocently.

His eyebrows rose, heat rising up his neck, making the burnt side of his face tingle. "Does he, now? Well, let me tell you one more thing that will weigh heavy in your decision. If you were my wife, you'd be mine and only mine; no hugging the manservants, no giving your favours to pretty tourney knights in exchange for hand kisses, no lovers! If I even thought for a moment that you were unfaithful, that you wanted another man in your bed, I'd . . . ." His fists were clenched and his eyes were burning. He turned away from her. _I'd kill her! No, get a hold of yourself! You know what you'd really do: you'd die._

"Oh! No, Sandor. Please, don't let that cross your mind. I'd never take a lover." She laid her hand on his arm, and he turned back toward her. "If I choose you, if I choose any man, it will be as a love match." _She's serious! A love match with me!_ His heart was pounding.

"And you? If we were to marry, you'd promise me no whores and no bastards?"

_Even honorable Ned Stark couldn't even keep that promise, but for this girl, I could. _He nodded.

"Can we make a compromise? I'll put an end to my" she chose the next word carefully, "familiarity with Kellan, if you let me get to know you as a betrothed does, not just as a servant."

"How will we ever go back from that? When you choose another, how will we become less familiar?" _I'll be the new Kellan, living in my memories, jealously watching from the corner, waiting for any opportunity, for just a scrap of her attention. _

"If I should choose another, we'll manage it somehow."

_No. You'll manage, Little Bird. I'll go mad._


	8. Chapter 8 The Book

When Arya returned from her bath, the Stark sisters had much to discuss. So, Veena showed Sandor to the empty second-floor bedroom, directly across from Kellan's room. It was simply furnished, modestly decorated, containing a feather bed, a chair, a writing desk covered with books, and a basin stand with an empty pitcher. There was no chamber pot, but this floor had a single, shared privy. Veena took the pitcher and promised to return with washing towels and water. As he unpacked his few belongings he found the gift he'd brought her. _I'll need to give this to her soon. _

From the door, he could see Kellan's belongings strewn about his room through the open door. _That one has temper_. _Good,_ he decided, _easier to provoke_. _I may never have her, but that pile of pig shit won't ever be Lord of the Dreadfort. He wants her. That's plain enough to see, but he doesn't deserve her. The faster she's rid of him, the better. If she did fall in love, Kellan would run a good man off._

He sat on the bed. _What will I do, when she finally falls in love and chooses a husband? Even if he's all that she deserves, will I be satisfied to see her happy? Will I obediently stand guard outside her chamber doors on her wedding night, listening to some other man take her maidenhead? _The thought made him sick. _Maybe she'll never marry, never fall in love, and just sing in Lorath until she's an old maiden_. He decided that was wrong. _She deserves a family, and she'd be so beautiful with a babe in her belly, full teats, glowing skin, and if it were my babe . . . ._ But there were dreams he'd never allowed himself, always knowing them impossible. _No, her children won't be mine, but I could protect them like I did Myrcella and Tommen._

Try as he might to push them out of his mind, the thoughts persisted. _I'd be a better father than my own. _That his own father became an accomplice to Gregor's crime by erasing the older son's guilt with a single, well-told untruth was a pain that continued long after the flesh had healed. _ I told Sansa the truth about myself, told her and threatened to kill her if she repeated it. _

Reading had helped ease his solitude on the Quiet Isle, so he moved to the chair at the writing desk and began examining titles. _Poetry, songbook, poetry, history. _He dismissed them one by one, until he reached the bottom. The last book was thin, its red leather cover wrapped in plain parchment. _Love in Essos_. He only meant to flip the cover open, but it opened itself to a page in the middle of the book. Each page contained a different depiction of people in various states of coupling, with long written descriptions of each act, its benefits, and how best to achieve the most pleasure from the act. _What is this, some sick leftover present from Littlefinger? No._ He decided. _This can't belong to Sansa. A girl like her would never read this, never keep this. She probably doesn't even know it's in her house. It must be Kellan's._

He opened to the beginning of the book, which began innocently enough, with three chapters on kissing, caressing, and other gestures of affection. He realized that those acts were foreign to him. He'd only been with whores, and they made quick work of gratifying him. None of them had ever even tried to kiss him, and most avoided his face and head at all cost. He learned young, from the loose talk of drunken soldiers, that women could have a release like men did. Once, while on watch duty, he happened upon a stable hand's midnight meeting with a scullion. He spied on the couple through the wooden slats of the horse stall they occupied. The girl, with hay in her hair, professed devotion to her lover, repeating his name in her pleasure until she sang the song of her completion. Jealous and angry, he knew that no woman would ever call his name that way. He realized that he never once considered pleasuring the few whores he'd contracted_. It was my coin, not theirs. _

The fourth began the series of chapters which addressed each population of Essos individually, beginning with the Dothraki. _If I was Dothraki, this face wouldn't matter much. _Next came the Braavosi. _I doubt the Little Bird would ever perch herself atop a man like that. _He flipped the page. The people of Myr lay side by side. _Not very crafty, they should stick to making glass. _ Pentoshis preferred a sitting position, while the Volantenes stood. What the Lysene did would require a very athletic man; the Tyroshi, a very flexible woman. In Norvos, height compatibility would be a critical factor, and the book sternly warned that only women practiced in being upside down for long periods of time should try to imitate the Qohori.

There were many pages dedicated to an act called "the Lorathi kiss," illustrated in both the male and female variations and a third variation which involved both simultaneously. _We have different names for this at home. _ He remembered a whore who was particularly skilled at performing that act on him. _Probably put her all into it because she could look at my belly instead of my face._ Something made him read the whole section on pleasuring a woman over again, while the tune of _The Bear and The Maiden Fair _played in his head. _What would Sansa taste like? Would she let me do that? _ Although he had fantasized about her many times before, he found that his thoughts took a different turn this time.

He pictured the shy girl on her wedding night, their wedding night, nervously clinging to her robe, the only barrier left between them. _She would probably expect me to just get atop her and roughly take her for my own pleasure, especially after what I told her earlier. I could surprise her, though, treat her gently, make it her pleasure and not her duty, make her want to come to the marriage bed, make her want me. But how? She's such a fragile young thing. I might try cupping her face in my hand, as she did mine. That might relax her. She remembered kissing me. Maybe she'd like that. _

It was difficult at first to visualize himself kissing her softly, slowly, as the book described, covering her pink lips with his own, getting her used to the feel of his lips, his kisses, the taste of his mouth. He'd never fantasized about kissing or pleasuring someone else before. In fact, his fantasies were exclusively of women pleasuring him. So, he was quite surprised when he noticed the stiffening in his tight black breeches. Silently, he rose from chair, checked the hall, and barred the door.

He laid on the bed, deciding to continue his strange fantasy. Sl_owly and gently, like the book said, I could kiss a slow path down her long neck. She'd be shy. _He daydreamed of her sliding the robe off her shoulders, finally willing him see all of her, her new womanly body, pink nipples on creamy, firm breasts, small waist, full hips, and red curls where her soft thighs met_. _His uncomfortable urgency was straining against was laces. He imagined cupping her breast, bringing his mouth to it, her nipple growing taut in his lips. His discomfort grew, and he freed his manhood from his breeches and began stroking himself. _I'd make her anticipate it, bring my mouth down her belly across her hip, slide my tongue across the soft skin inside her thigh, and taste my way up to the soft moist lips there. _As he pictured himself licking the sweet honey from her pink folds, his strokes quickened. _It would be warm and tight. She would be wet for me, wanting more, wanting me. She'd spread her legs wider, repeating my name_. _She'd quiver in pleasure, and invite me inside of her, beg me inside. _His mind could no longer concentrate on the fantasy, images flashing, dissolving, scrambling. He reached for his handkerchief as he felt himself close to the edge. _Shit! I gave the handkerchief to Sansa! _It was too late to hold back. Overcome by the force of the waves of pleasure, he turned on his side and released his seed onto the bare floor.

Just then, a knock at the door sent him into a panic. "Just a moment." He looked around for something, anything to clean up his mess. The knock was more insistent. "Just leave it at the door! I'll get it myself!" He started lacing his breeches. _The girl was bringing a washing towel. I'll clean this mess up with that. _

He unbarred the door, and cracked it open. Relieved to find Veena gone and a full pitcher sitting atop a pile of towels, he reached down to grab the supplies. Suddenly, Kellan's silent shadow fell over him, and his bad leg conspired with his hands full of provisions to slow him. The toe of the guard's brown boot nudge the door open, and he stepped in uninvited.

"Busy?" He eyed the room, not even glancing at the older man.

"You've not been invited to enter my chambers, boy. I think there is some house rule about such things."

The younger man strode toward the desk, and before Sandor could usher him out, Kellan sniffed the air like a hunting dog who caught a familiar scent and curled his lips into a disgusted snarl. The mess was still on the floor next to the bed, and the room reeked of it. The Hound let the pitcher clank into the basin.

"Yes. Well, lucky for me, there is no one here to enforce it."

Something about Kellan's arrogant manner reminded Sandor of Jaime Lannister at that age. Difficult as it was, Sandor ignored the verbal baiting because any ruckus would bring one or more of the girls into the room, and he couldn't risk explaining to any of them the mess on the floor, especially if Kellan was there to explain it for him.

"What are you here for?"

Kellan fingered the open pages of the book, "_Love in Essos?_ I haven't seen a copy of this in years. I read it cover to cover when I was a boy. I guess every man is a boy until he finishes that book. Don't you agree, now that you've read most of it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It seems that you're up to the Lorathi kiss, one of my favorites. I'm quite experienced at that one. I've found that women love it more when you . . . Apolgies, ser. I've gotten off track, and I didn't mean to disturb your . . . ," he cleared his throat, "privacy. It's just that supper is about to be served." He snapped the cover closed with a single finger, eyeing the wet spots next to the bed. "I thought you might appreciate some notice in case you needed a moment to wash up first." He turned sharply and strutted out the door.

_I'll be killing him._


	9. Chapter 9 Friend or Servant?

Sandor took a moment to retrieve the necklace and locket he brought for Sansa, before making his way down to supper. He was surprised to find no food on the dining table, and overheard an exchange between Kellan and Sansa coming from the terrace.

"Lord Clegane and I will be dining alone on the terrace this evening. I know you're not accustomed to it, but would you terribly mind eating with Veena and Rona? They're taking their supper at the inn tonight." She sounded apologetic.

"With the servants?" The guard was indignant.

"Yes, Kellan, with the other servants."

"Is that what I am, now, merely a servant?"

"Service is no shame. Our servants in Winterfell were like family. Nan, Hodor, Ser Jory . . . ." Her voice was nostalgic. "We shared our lives with them."

"Yet, they were not your equals. Would you have married this Hodor?"

"That's ridiculous!" She laughed.

"It is ridiculous to marry a man unworthy of you. Yet, you intend to marry Ser Clegane. Do you not? Do you love him?"

"He is not unworthy." She snapped. "And don't call him 'ser.' He doesn't like it."

"Do you love him?" He pushed.

"That's hardly your business or your place. In case you've forgotten, let me tell you your place, Kellan, it's to do your Lady's business and follow her commands. So, after your supper, you will ride to the port and order more clothing from the tailor for Lord Clegane. Thank the gods, he will be staying with me longer than he anticipated, and I plan to provide him with everything that he needs and desires."

"Truly, my lady? Everything that he desires?"

She had a fire in her eyes, "Everything."

"And if you are what he desires?"

She wouldn't back down. "Shall I tell it to you thrice, now? Everything!" She brushed her hair back and composed herself, a bit, her tone still commanding. "My betrothed . . . ."

"Betrothed? So you do intend to marry him. Well, then I must go congratulate ser, now."

"Wait! He doesn't know. " She wavered for a moment.

"A betrothal unbeknownst to the groom? Must be some Northern tradition I am not acquainted with."

His comment angered her, and her voice became powerful, her words concise. "As is befitting your station, please go to the port on my behalf and commission the tailor there to make three more tunics and three more breeches for Lord Clegane. Extend to the tailor my compliments on his fine, quick work, and tell him that my betrothed was stately in his new attire and pleased me greatly. Have the tunics made in olive green, red, and white, as I have always found the sight of my Lord gratifying in those colors. Instruct him to make the pants in brown, gray, and dark blue but a bit looser this time, as Sandor is such a strapping man. Bring him socks and smallclothes, too. Do make sure the smallclothes can properly accommodate his girth. Such a large and particular order will certainly require a bit of time. You will need to spend the evening in the inn at the port and return on the morrow whenever your task is complete. Have I made my desires completely clear to you? For, I'd hate for you to have to return to hear them repeated."

"I can return tonight, my Lady, and ride back on the morrow."

"No. Those were not my instructions. You won't return. Here is the coin you'll need. Make sure you guard it carefully, as there is ample coin here for a man's passage from Lorath to any of the Free Cities. Anyone desiring to leave Lorath, for any reason, would find such a purse tempting. Although you are quite happy here, there are many in this city who don't properly love their stations and are looking for a way out. This," she shook the purse, "is freedom to an unhappy man." Her tone was suggesting. "Do remember to take with you whatever belongings you'll need for your time away from this house, as I'd hate to imagine your leaving behind anything you might want or need for your travels."

He bowed roughly.

"Gods be with you on your journey, Kellan." She said it courteously, but without emotion.

_Clever, Little Bird, but how clever is your guard?_


	10. Chapter 10 Some Truth

Arya was waiting in the stable with a saddled horse when the large guardsman arrived with all his packed belongings.

"Lost your position, did you?"

"I believe it's time for me to go. It's too bad, though. I quite liked it here in Lorath. This heat reminds me of the armory."

"I'm just relieved he didn't recognize you."

"He only really got a look at me the one time, in the brewhouse, and back then my whole face was still stained with soot. I had a good bit of fun rattling the old dog's chain, but I think he's changed. He held his temper while I insulted him, but he'd have cut through me in a heartbeat to get to Sansa's side. He'll keep his temper and keep her safe."

"You did a good job of keeping her safe and helping with my plan." She said sincerely and then added in a mocking tone, "Thank you, Kellan."

"That's what us knights are for, my lady. And don't forget I am Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill." He bowed theatrically.

"You'll always be a stupid bull-headed boy to me!" She teased. "Or maybe you're a girl. Prove you're a boy. Pull your cock out and take a piss."

"My lady has quite a mouth on her."

"Fine, skip the piss."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" He asked it mockingly, but his eyes revealed that he was interested in the answer.

"I wouldn't know, yet."

"Don't forget what you promised you'd do for me."

"I know. A bath, a hairstyle, a dress, and dinner with you."

"And . . . ?"

"One kiss, Gendry, just one, and if it's wet and sloppy, I swear I'll knock your front teeth out!"

"Done." He put his hand out for her to shake it, and when she did, he kissed her hand. "My lady."

"Don't push it!"

"We can eat at the Inn where I'll be staying until our departure. I'll pay!" He held up the purse, rattling its contents. "You never told me where you got the money for all of this?"

"It was easier than I thought, actually. Remember when Dondarrion took the Hound's tourney winnings and gave him the promissory note from the Brotherhood for his nine thousand gold dragons?"

He nodded.

"Well, I bought the note back from the ferry boat owner for the ten dragons the Hound owed him. He was happy to be rid of it. I sold it to Lady Ravella Swann of Acorn Hall for six thousand dragons. As you know she has a history with Tom of Sevenstrings. She'll make a three thousand dragon profit on it, if she ever gets paid. In the meantime, Tom makes interest payments to her on behalf of the Brotherhood, though never in coin and only when her husband is away."

"Sounds like everyone is profiting from that arrangement. Is there any money left?"

"Plenty, but I'm not done here in Lorath until they're wedded and bedded. Luckily, I've a card or two left in my pocket."

"For instance?" He was intrigued.

"Well, I haven't yet told her about the Lady you truly serve, Lady Stoneheart." A concerned look swept over Arya's face.

Gendry moved forward and pulled her into his arms, and although she didn't embrace him back, she made no move away from him.

She changed the subject. "Tell me what happened just now on the terrace when you pressed Sansa? "

"That was easy work. She'd already convinced herself, just needed to hear herself say the words aloud. The moment I called him unworthy, she jumped to defend his worthiness, claimed him as her betrothed, and called him _stately, gratifying and strapping_. She also said, 'Thank the gods, he will be staying with me longer than he anticipated, and I plan to provide him with everything that he needs and desires.' Oh, I forgot, while I get settled in at the Inn, you'll need to go get him some clothes: tunics in olive green, red, and white; looser breeches in brown, gray, and dark blue; some socks and some smallclothes." He tossed the purse at her.

She tossed it back to him. "I'll pay the tailor. You might need that to live on until we can all set out for Westeros. This may still take longer than we hoped."

"It wouldn't have if you would have told her the truth: that you had already named him as her husband in your letter to Bran."

"No. I don't want her to feel the least bit forced. I want her to think of this husband as one of her own choosing, and I want her to leave Lorath willingly."

"And if she doesn't? Will you throw her in a sack, kicking and screaming? Change your face into handsome prince and ask her to marry you herself?" Gendry shook his head. "It's a dangerous gamble, Arya, and we need to make haste on this. I've been away for months, the Brotherhood needs me back. And Lady Stoneheart, . . . ."

"Is anxious for our safe return. Yes, I know that better than you. What happened when you confronted him? Does he still think he'd be happy enough as just her sword and shield?"

"Well, . . .that didn't exactly go according to our plan."

"What do you mean, Gendry?"

"Well, he was . . .busy."

"Doing what?

"Reading."

"Just reading?"

"No."

"You've lost me. Did you burst in on him like we planned?"

"Yes."

"Did you challenge him? Make him jealous?"

Gendry shook his head. He began rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, trying to think of a way to describe the situation. "Not really. I did try, but I was distracted."

"Distracted?"

"He somehow got his hands on a copy of a book. You'll never have heard of it, but it's called _Love in Essos._ I found it on the floor under my bed a few months back. It must have belonged to whomever occupied the room before me. Anyway, the book is very . . . interesting."

"And it distracted you?"

"No. He had it out on the desk, and he . . . . he was . . . ."

"What? Painting? Drawing? Singing verse?"

"No. He was . . . " Gendry struggled.

"Just say it, Gendry. He was wanking."

"Arya! How do you know about such things?" He was red-faced with shock.

"I've caught you at it twice already. Anyway, it's my book. I left it here when I last visited, figured you'd find it eventually and enjoy it. I don't understand all of it, though." She admitted.

"Well, you're still young." He was much more comfortable responding to her last statement than to her first.

"Oh, it's not that. I just can't understand why anyone, Qohori or not, would ever practice at staying upside down. Anyway, what page was it open to, the book I mean?"

"The Lorathi kiss." He looked at his feet as he said it.

"Man's pleasure or woman's?"

"Woman's" His voice was higher, and he cleared his throat. "Why?"

"I'd take that as a good sign." She winked. "I need to get to the bathhouse and get clean and pretty for a handsome knight. So, help me onto this horse."

"And me?"

"Hop on behind me, and tell me something interesting about the Dothraki."


	11. Chapter 11 The Kiss

Sansa stood on the terrace facing the sea, red hair waving in the breeze. Through the thin silk of her turquoise sleeveless gown, he could see the shadow of her body. She was beautiful in the setting sun, and Sandor was encouraged by the feisty way she defended him to Kellan, though his curiosity was nipping at him to discover if she truly meant to choose him as her husband.

When she heard the creak of the terrace door, she greeted him with an easy smile, curtseyed, and began speaking with such conviction that he dared not interrupt. "I must beg pardon for not properly greeting you when you arrived, but I was overcome to discover you alive, as I have prayed to the Seven for you so many times. I was also confused about the means by which Arya orchestrated our reunion, and I apologize on her behalf for any deception. I believe that you and I were both equally embarrassed by my sister's revelations regarding our feelings toward each other and shocked by her hasty proposal, but I do hope you understand that I am truly delighted by your arrival." She gestured to the table. "It will be just the two of us for supper. Arya and the serving girls are gone."

"And Kellan?" He pretended he hadn't overheard them on the terrace.

"He is either at the port fetching you some new attire from the tailor or on his way to Volantis. I hope the latter."

"New attire? Is my appearance not to your liking?"

"No, my Lord, you are quite to my liking, though you do look quite different to me now. Out of your armor, you're more accessible." She caressed his forearm, her fingertips leaving a trail of aching in their wake. "After we've eaten, will you walk with me on the beach?"

He consented, and they enjoyed the meal, a simple fish in parsley sauce, as they shared with each other the events of the years in which they were separated. After dinner, they leaned on the terrace wall, side by side, looking out at the sea, drinking wine and becoming quite relaxed in each other's company. She laughed at his tale of Arya's luring him to Lorath, and he then remembered her gift.

"I've never given a gift before." He began.

She turned to face him, relaxed and delighted. "For me?"

"Wenton, er Arya, told me that it is customary in Lorath to give one's hostess a gift."

"She's mistaken. It's quite against the custom here. Lorathi hosts refuse gifts from their guests, feeling that the pleasure is in giving rather than receiving."

He recalled his fantasy. _More pleasure in giving than receiving. _

"Will you refuse me then?" He brought the box behind his back.

Her look was provocative. "No, I'll not refuse you."

He presented it again, and she opened it with enthusiasm. "Oh! It's the Mother!" She brought her hand to her mouth, and tears welled up in her blue eyes. She stood staring into the box for a few moments. "It's beautiful, Sandor. Thank you!" She cooed. "But where did you get the coin to pay for this?"

"Graverobbing."

She laughed. "You're much funnier than I remembered you to be."

_I told her that I'd never lie to her. I never said she had to believe me._

"Will you help me put it on?" She gathered her hair up with her hand.

He stood behind her and brought the necklace together at the back of her neck. He couldn't resist brushing the skin with his knuckles, as he let the thin chain rest. He fought hard against his urge to press a kiss there below the clasp_. _

She inhaled deeply, turning around, bringing her face toward his neck. "You smell wonderful. Wonderful but different."

_So polite. She means that in King's Landing I smelled like wine and horse and sweat. _

"Shall we?"

He nodded, ready to follow her down to the shore. As she began removing her silver sandals, she explained "Lorathis enjoy the beach in their bare feet." So, he copied her action, removing his own boots and socks. Then she shyly suggested, "And the men don't wear their tunics." He reluctantly stripped off the yellow gift from Arya, and his broad chest was bare before her.

"Oh!" She caught her breath and for a moment he saw disapproval in her eyes. Then, she pointed to a scar on his chest. Her finger was a hair's breadth away from his skin casting its heat there.

"How?" She asked.

"Crossbow quarrel." He spared her the rest of the story.

"Here?" She pointed to another near his ribs.

"Dagger." _This is no mere curiosity. _.

She didn't ask more but simply ran her finger over the next one as he answered her silent question. "Axe." _She sees I am brutal, that I am damaged._ His heart sank. _She is unblemished in skin and virtue, but I am not._

She silently circled his body languidly, lightly brushing each old wound, back, shoulder, then stomach, as he replied to each touch in turn, "Mace. Morning star. Sword. Spear. Lance." He was convinced that her disgust was building with each one, and he reached for his tunic to rescue her from her morbid curiosity.

"No!" She grabbed his hand, and laced his fingers with hers and gently brought her lips to the first scar, saying only, "Quarrel." She moved her mouth to his ribs, "Dagger." As her mouth trailed wet kisses, she whispered each in turn, "Axe. Mace. Morning star. Spear. Lance."

He could no longer suppress his hunger. He grabbed her face firmly, and when he brought his lips to hers, it was not in the manner of the soft, slow kiss he imagined. It was passionate and breathless. He was trembling and overwhelmed. He began to pull his face back from hers, until he felt her hand in his hair, pulling him back to her mouth.

The kiss was slower, more rhythmic and controlled, and he felt the softness of her tongue at his lips. As he opened his mouth to allow her tongue deeper, his hands fell to her waist and pulled her tighter against him. Her tongue swept his, and when he felt the hardness of her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress, he could no longer resist the desire to bring his hand up to her breast. His manhood pressed hard against her hip, and she slipped her hand between them, appraising its size and shape through his breeches. She staggered back, on the terrace, astonished.

He realized that she had probably never felt a man's cock before, and maybe only seen Tyrion's. "I'm no dwarf, Little Bird."

Her breath was ragged. "Is it always . . .so . . .?" She left the question hanging in the air, too shy to describe it further.

He realized that she was not as prepared for this as she needed to be, and simply answered, "When you're around, yes." Her eyes were wide. _Hide your disappointment._ "It's alright. We'll stop. Let's go for that walk."

"No!" She protested.

He was confused.

"Just, don't take my maidenhead. Not tonight." Her neck lengthened, bringing her face back toward his, and this time he cupped her face in his hand for a moment. His softer kisses tickled her lips, her chin, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. He stopped where the Mother's pendant hung and picked her up, carrying her through the terrace doors. The pain in his leg reminded him that he couldn't bear their weight easily anymore. He set her down on the first surface they encountered, the dining table. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, and with both hands he brushed the shoulders of her dress down her arms, baring her to the waist.

He kissed the tip of one already hardened, blushing nipple, flicked his tongue against it, and sucked it into his mouth as she sighed her pleasure to the dining room ceiling. He moved to the other breast, his tongue tracing narrowing circles from pale skin to pink. He found the hem of her dress near her feet, and it followed his hand, up her ankle, calf, knee, thigh. He almost stumbled back when he discovered that she wasn't wearing any smallclothes. She was soaked, and she sucked in a breath as he massaged her with all four of his fingers together. She spread her legs wider, and he looked down to finally see her womanhood, flaming waves dancing above glistening, rosy lips.

She pulled his head toward hers, and he thought she meant to kiss him. Instead she brought his forehead to hers, and stared into in his eyes. He wanted to taste her now, but he couldn't bear to break her gaze, so his large fingers continued to work her so slowly and gently that she began to rock her hips to increase the rhythm. Her hips tipped, bringing herself tighter against his hand to increase the pressure, and when her eyes closed, he knew she was close. She whispered his name, and his heart swelled, whispered it again and again. "Sandor," she moaned as he felt the pulsing of her climax against his hand.


	12. Chapter 12 The Wolf-hound?

When Sansa finally opened her eyes, Sandor couldn't resist quoting one of her pleasantries. "I am truly delighted by your arrival."

"What?" She was breathless and flushed.

"It's what you told me earlier. It means that I'm glad you came." He was satisfied with his accomplishment, and stood back a few paces to fully appreciate the sight of her.

"Oh!" She was suddenly shy and nervous, flushing turning to blushing. She pulled up the shoulders of her gown, pulled down the hem, and smoothed her hair away from her face.

He was fully aroused, and began adjusting his sizable erection.

She reached nervously for his arm. "Is there some way that I can please you?"

Every inch of him screamed, _"Yes!"_ So, he was absolutely astonished when he heard himself say, "Not tonight."

Her words were halting, and her question sincere. "Is it . . . is it only my maidenhead that would satisfy you?"

He understood what she was asking. "No. There are ways to please me without taking you." He assured her.

She was still genuine but faltering in her speech. "Could I? Could I try? Would you show me how?" He watched her in silence for a moment, trying to interpret her behavior. Was she motivated by desire or obligation? There was such intense passion in her eyes while he pleasured her that just the memory of that look made his manhood twinge.

Then, he remembered her hesitation on the terrace. A different memory awakened, one of little Tommen chasing birds in the courtyard at King's Landing. The boy would creep quietly and gently, with so much painful patience, trying make himself a familiar part of their environment, so much work to gain their trust. His tiny face revealed his delight when he finally had the bird eating from his hand, but the smallest twitch of that excited hand would inevitably cause the bird to flee in fear.

So, Sandor excused, "I think this has been enough _getting to know you as a betrothed_ for one night."

She answered with a deep inhale followed by a deeper exhale. _A mix of disappointment and relief?_ He couldn't read the peculiar look on her face.

"Go get cleaned up, girl. You promised me a walk by the sea. I didn't take my boots off for nothing."

Her smile returned, and she kissed him quickly as she hopped down from the table, convincing him that he'd judged rightly in exercising caution. He considered hurrying up to his room to quickly remedy the ache in his groin, but he decided against it, thinking on his earlier encounter with Kellan. His difficulty had dwindled by the time a glowing Sansa returned to the dining room.

He opened the terrace door for her and offered her his arm. She trustingly smiled up at him, and he led her down to the shore. "Most people love the sea, but I love the sand. When I am lonely for home, I imagine that it's all snow and that I'm back in Winterfell." Then carefully, she asked, "Do you ever miss your home?"

"No. Clegane Keep is a somber place full of bad memories. I'm glad to be rid of it, glad that the money will be used to help your people."

"They would be your people, too. You could learn to love the North. It would be a fresh start."

_"You are reborn, and this new life is your gift from the Mother." _He heard the Elder Brother's words again in his head._ I promised her that I would go back with her, either to a cottage in the North woods alone or to the Dreadfort as her husband. North will be my new home, either way._

"Today, when Arya and I were alone, she told me that Bran would like to see the sharp, stone teeth merlons of the Dreadfort come to be known as the jaws of the Wolfhound." She giggled.

He was encouraged. _Wolf-hound? You Starks will need a hound to breed with for that._

_"_Its name would need to be changed from 'Dreadfort.' What an awful title! Though, truly the Boltons were utterly detestable people, and I'm not sorry to see the end of their line_." _She confessed._ "_The torture chambers are being purged, and the metal found within is all being sent to the armorers to be re-forged into weapons to protect the North. There are few young, strong men left to wield those weapons, and even fewer capable of training the younger men properly and leading them."

"You need not convince me. I told you I'll go North, to a cottage in the North woods or to the Dreadfort, whichever you choose for me. I'll train your men, do whatever you need."

"The population has diminished, and many of the remaining are old, sick, or merely children. There are very few births." She paused as if she was waiting for a response to an understood question, but when he didn't answer, she asked pointedly. "Do you want children?"

The question caught him unprepared. "I never expected to be a father, never really thought it possible."

She was suddenly concerned. "Have you injured some necessary element?"

He almost laughed. _She's worried that I held back because I can't perform, that there's more damage to accompany the scars she saw. _"No. My elements work fine."

"Thank the gods!" Her intense relief amused him. "Have you had many lovers?"

_Bold question, Little bird. _"Lovers? No. None but you. Whores, a few."

"Did they please you?"

"Whores do what they're paid to do. No more. As you have learned, there are limits to what coin can purchase."

"Do you think I could ever please you?"

"Yes." He said it with certainty.

"What you did to me earlier, how many women have you done that to?"

"None but you."

She stopped walking, and turned to look him in the eyes. "Truly?"

"Aye."

"Will you ask me now why I stared into your eyes while we . . .?"

He spared her the need to label the action. "Why?"

"You insisted that I look at you on the night of the Hand's Tourney and the night of the battle. When I closed my eyes in my room that night, you never kissed me. You left me. And though I recall that kiss so clearly, it was a merely a well-remembered dream. I needed to keep my eyes open to assure myself that it was real this time, that it was no dream. I needed you to see me looking at you, to know that it was no other man's face I was picturing in your stead. I need you to not leave me this time, Sandor." She reached up and cupped his face in both her hands. "I needed to answer, for both of us, the question you asked me earlier: if this is what I want above me each night in the marriage bed. My answer is, 'Yes'."


	13. Chapter 13 A Real Proposal

"So, I have made my decision on Arya's proposal. Although, as of yet, Arya has been the only one to propose anything." Sansa hinted, taking Sandor's hand. "Oh, you're shaking." She observed, concerned.

"Little bird, I . . . ." Tears were welling in his deep gray eyes, and he cast his eyes down, shaking his head.

She hadn't seen him cry on the night of the battle, only felt his tears. It made her nervous, she suddenly feared he might not ask her, and she said whatever came to her mind, a jumbled mix of his words and her thoughts. "Do I frighten you so much? Or is it the thought of taking marriage vows making you shake? Maybe it's that your mind is frantically occupied conjuring up some crafty means of giving me offense in order for you to push me away, as you did anytime you opened your heart to me in King's Landing. Well, here is my advice: save yourself some pain, my Lord, and give yourself what you want."

"And what is it that I want?" He asked, knowing the answer.

This time, she was more confident in her response. "Me. You want me to smile and smell sweet and be your lady love. You want me to love you and never fear you. You want me to rescue you, take you North somewhere, anywhere. I could keep you safe. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them. I'll never hurt you again."

The big man came to one knee, head bowed, in the same gesture she had seen him use to reverence to the King at the Hand's Tourney.

"Look at me," she commanded, tipping his chin up with two fingers. He looked up at her through his hair, trying desperately to maintain his composure.

"If you were to ask me, I would be a good wife. I swear I'd be yours and only yours; no hugging the manservants, no giving my favours to tourney knights for hand kisses, and I'll never have or want another man in my bed or in my heart, just you every night and sometimes during the day. I may not have sung you the song I promised you, but I hope it was the song you wanted most to hear. Either way, it is the truest one I know. "

He made a queer sound, and it took a moment for her to realize he was sobbing. She reached into her dress at the spot above her heart, withdrawing the new handkerchief he had used to wipe her tears earlier that day, glad that she'd taken the time back in her room to grab it. She began to dab at his face.

Through his tears, he saw the last ray of the day's sun reflected off the golden image of the Mother at her throat. He knelt there in the sand, summoning courtesy and formality, painstaking as it was for him. _I'll give her a proper proposal. That much I can do. _ He took her hand. "My Lady Sansa of House Stark," he began, clearing his throat. "I wish, more than you know, that I could ask your honorable father for your hand."

She began to cry.

"My house is not as noble as yours, nor is my fortune as great. I do not deserve what I am asking. Yet, I humbly beg you the honor of your hand in marriage. Will you accept me?"

"I will."

His voice betrayed his relief. "Then choose the day, and I'll take the vows before some Septon, here in Lorath." Then he added in a mock begrudging tone, "And when the day comes that we return to the North, I know you'll want us to do the same before your old tree gods."

"In the godswood! Truly? You'd do that for me, Sandor, wed me twice? Before the old gods and the new?"

"Aye. I'll be a Northman." He stood and picked her up over his shoulder and started walking back toward her home, "But I'll bed you twice, too."

"Put me down!" She giggled. "And no bedding until the wedding!"

He set her down, and answered solemnly. "I agree."

When they returned arm in arm to her home, the candlelight within and the disappearance of the dinner dishes from the patio told them that Veena and Rona had returned from their dinner at the local inn. Sansa collected her shoes, and Sandor collected his shirt and boots.

"This is the happiest I've been since Winterfell. I believe this was the prophecy of King Robert." She teased.

"Prophecy? That old, drunk whore-monger was no prophet. What are you talking about, girl?"

"On the Kingsroad, he told my father 'Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it'."

Instead of appreciating her joke, his mood turned sour. "That was the day I . . . ." _I rode down Arya's friend Mycah._

"Please, don't ruin this day for me, Sandor." She warned.

He was sullen, still remorseful about the butcher's son.

After his continued silence, she yelled, "Enough!" She was louder than he'd ever heard her, angrier than he'd ever seen. "It doesn't matter what you did that day or any day before today, what's done is done. You've made your demands on me, and this one is mine: forget it, Sandor! Forgive yourself and forget it all. I've lived here in exile not in fear of returning but in shame. I know too well the damage regret does. I let you leave that night without me, and I . . . I married the Imp! The buggering Imp!" She laughed contemptuously.

He was taken aback at her language, and as her ferocity increased. "I pretended to be Littlefinger's bastard while he touched me in ways no true father would! I stood by and watched him kill my Aunt and Ser Dontos! My own hairnet killed a King, may he rot in seven hells!"

Her eyes were on fire, nostrils flaring, and she became more her mother's daughter with each word as she continued. "And my own actions, my stupidity, killed my father! But I swear to Seven, that I've had my fill of remorse, and I will reclaim my life. I will return to Winterfell as Lady Sansa Clegane and go make my home at the thrice-damned Dreadfort! And I will finally allow myself to be free of all the bloody shame and regrets! I'm ready to be happy. I will be happy! And you will, too!"

In an instant, the growl of the direwolf was silenced by courtesy, as she corrected her words. "That is to say that I will do all that is in my power to make you happy, my Lord, but the task is easier accomplished if you would please consent to breaking with our pasts and beginning our lives anew together with clean consciences."

He was still shocked by her outburst, and could only ask, "So, it's true what they say about the Dreadfort being cursed?"

"We shall change that, too." She resolved elegantly.


	14. Chapter 14 The Bastard-lord

Meanwhile at the Port

As Arya headed toward the tailor's shop near the port, Gendry called back over his shoulder. "How long should I tell the innkeeper I'll be staying?"

"Tell him a week, and pray it's not a fortnight. I'll meet you in the dining hall in two hours."

The tailor's door was locked, but when Arya knocked she was greeted excitedly. That morning, she had promised the tailor five times his customary fee to stop what he was doing and work exclusively on the projects she had left him. He had a team of helpers working with him on the projects, and she wanted to be sure they weren't dallying.

"Hello! Welcome back! Your dress is ready."

She needed some minor mending on a brown Lorathi silk gown, which the tailor did for free in light of their arrangement. It was the other two projects which most concerned her. "How are those cloaks coming along?"

"The yellow and black one is cut and the sewing has just begun. The detail of crest of the direwolf from the pattern you gave me is more intricate. At the earliest, they'll be done sometime the day after tomorrow. We will work day and night and deliver them as soon as they're complete. "

"I'll need a few more things before tomorrow morning, just a tunic and a pair of breeches, and some smallclothes and socks. Then, I'll need two more pants and three long-sleeved tunics as soon as you're done with those wedding cloaks." She threw some coin at him.

"Long-sleeved? Are you sure? The weather is too warm to wear such as that at this time of year."

"Not in Westeros."

Arya conveyed the detail of the clothing order, paid, and headed to the bathhouse. She knew she'd enjoy her time there even less than the Hound did, and when she emerged finally, fully dressed from behind the changing screen, she didn't recognize herself. Her eyes were rimmed in kohl, cheeks and lips pinkened slightly, an orange flower in her hair. She thought, "Of all the faces I've worn, this one, my own, is the strangest." She remembered Stranger with the roses braided in his hair and sympathized.

When she arrived at the inn, she found Gendry in the dining room, drinking ale. He stared as she approached the table and stumbled to standing, pulling out her chair. As uncomfortable as she was, she wasn't nervous. She had long ago learned to wear any disguise convincingly, but poor Gendry was downright bumbling and stuttering. She knew that her appearance was to blame and couldn't resist taunting him. His hand was on the table, and as she gently brushed it with her finger tips, she leaned over, and whispered, "You're a lucky man, Ser Gendry."

He blushed and swallowed, "How is that, M'lady?"

She gestured for him to lean closer, and as he did with great anticipation, she cuffed him in the ear. "Lucky that I don't have bigger teats, or you'd fall out of that seat and knock yourself unconscious. Now act right. You're making me uncomfortable, and I've got a lot to tell you."

Chastised, he conceded with a laugh, but his eyes never left her. She motioned for him to pour her a cup of ale, too. He complied, asking, "What news?"

"You'll know some of what I tell you. Other bits will come as a surprise. It's a long story. So, follow if you can." She didn't mean it as a criticism of his intellect, but he looked hurt all the same.

She began. "I have been in contact with Lord Stannis Baratheon, King Robert's brother, in a matter relating to my father's death. My father died for the truth that was discovered by Lord Stannis and Jon Arryn, that Queen Cersei's children were not of King Robert's blood. In the course of proving that truth, they sought out Robert's many bastard children. Upon the King's death, my father supported Stannis' claim to the throne, and feeling obligated for that support and knowing where his best interests lie, Stannis retook Winterfell from the Boltons and restored Bran to his seat. The North, owing a great deal to Stannis for that act, now has an alliance with him."

Gendry nodded, and Arya continued knowing he didn't yet fully appreciate the weight and effect of her story. "Bran is now betrothed to Shireen to solidify that alliance, but it is a weak binding at best. Both are young and unhealthy, and the birth of any children to them is unlikely. Shireen is the only heir to Dragonstone and will remain there until her marriage to Bran, at which time he will move to Dragonstone and relinquish his seat to Rickon."

"Your youngest brother?"

"Yes." She explained the next part slowly, "Stannis has requested a further joining of our houses by marrying me to a Baratheon."

Gendry laughed, assuming Arya would join him in his amusement, but when she remained solemn, he looked horrified.

"As Lord Renly had no children, and Stannis has none but Shireen, he is forced to legitimize one of King Robert's bastards to accomplish that. Robert has acknowledged one boy, Edric Storm, who is to be legitimized and become heir to Storm's End. Poor thing, he has ears like trenchers." She imitated large ears with her hands.

Gendry didn't laugh at her jape. "So, will you marry the king's bastard?"

"Yes, but not the one with the big ears."

"You've lost me."

"Stannis, Lord Arryn, and my father discovered another boy, and if no children are born to Bran and Shireen, the other bastard will inherit Dragonstone when they pass. Stannis wants me to marry the boy as a protection to Shireen and Bran, an assurance that no ambitious woman would marry the bastard and encourage him to '_rush_' his inheritance by injuring Shireen or Bran. He knows that my love for my brother would prevent me from any ambition that would rob him of anything."

"So, you've agreed to marry this other bastard-lord, then?" His face was a mask of pained confusion.

"Wholeheartedly." She smiled.

Gendry poured himself another cup of ale, drinking it down in a single gesture. As he slammed the cup to the table, he spit his incredulous questions. "Your sister marries an ugly old sellsword for love, and you marry a bastard for social connection? What is wrong with you Stark girls?"

"I'm not a girl!" She shouted. Then, regaining her composure, she mocked courtesy, "I am a Lady, the future Lady of Dragonstone, soon to be Lady Arya Baratheon. You may kiss me now and congratulate me on my betrothal."

"What? Here? Kiss you here? Kiss the future Lady Baratheon right here in front of a dining room full of Lorathi strangers? Forget it Arya! Save your kisses for your betrothed."

"Are you truly that bull-headed?" She teased. "Or just that stupid?"

"Whatever I am, it's clear I'm not good enough for the likes of you. I guess a stupid armorer, even a knighted one, can't ever compare to a King's son, even if they're both bastards." He poured the ale again, and she grew weary of torturing him.

"Why did two Hands of the King seek you out, Gendry? Think! Did they buy any armor? What questions did they ask you? Use that big, hard head of yours."

He shook his head, eyes on the table.

"Let me make it plainer: I'm to be betrothed to the future Lord Gendry Baratheon, formerly Ser Gendry of Hollow Hill."

His surprise was so satisfying that she began savoring her ale.

"The King? The fat one was my father?"

"Yes. And he was my father's best friend. They fought side by side, and our houses should have been joined. My aunt was betrothed to him. My father didn't want Sansa to marry Joffrey, but Joffrey was a Lannister, not a Baratheon. I think, had he ever met you, my father may have liked you. Regardless, I like you. And with my mother alive, or whatever she is, I need to go home."

"So, we're to be married? That's what you're saying?"

"Yes. We're to be married."

His surprise transformed into a satisfied grin, and she could only imagine what he was picturing.

"There's more." Her eyebrows were raised in confession. "There's a prophecy."

Arya expected Gendry's doubtful look. "At High Heart, while you were sleeping, an old dwarf crone said that she dreamt of Sansa slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow. I know how it sounds, but so much of what she said has come to pass, and I just know, somehow I know, that Sansa has to get back to Winterfell and do whatever it is she's meant to do. Bran, he sees things, too, . . . ."

"So, you wanted her to marry the Hound for protection? Not for love or money."

She nodded. "They love each other, it's plain. The money doesn't hurt. But, if she's to confront a giant, it's him I want at her side. He'd die for her now, I'm sure of it. And he'll help her confidence."

"Does he know?"

"No! I can't tell him until we're back in the North, or else they'll never go home. He'd never put her in harm's way."

"And after she slays the giant?"

"I don't know. I think maybe she could become the Queen in the North. Maybe take Winterfell as her seat and let Rickon have the Dreadfort. Who knows?"

"And the Queen's consort?"

"Would be a dog. Yes." She rolled her eyes.

"And we're to be married and inherit a castle?" His eyes were still big with wonder, still processing his new fortune.

"Yes and maybe someday." She lifted her cup toward him, and they toasted.

"Then, I have changed my mind. I must kiss the future Lady Baratheon right here in front of a dining room full of Lorathi strangers." He stood and walked over to her, pulled her out of the chair with one arm, and kissed her fully on the mouth, announcing to the other diners, "We're betrothed!."

The crowd cheered, and she poked a finger in his ribs, telling him, "I'll leave you your teeth, but only because I don't want an ugly, toothless husband." But she couldn't hide her blushing excitement.


	15. Chapter 15 A Pair of Queens?

The next morning as Arya collected Sandor's things from the tailor, she was so deep in her memories of Gendry's warm arms that the voice from behind surprised her. "A girl is to be married. Yet, a girl is no one. How can no one be married?"

"Jaqen!" His face was different, but she recognized him all the same.

"A girl prefers to serve a husband than to serve the Red God?"

"It's not like that. I have duties, family duties."

"Just so. A girl has other duties, too, to the Red God and to herself. It is easy to change a face, change a name, to become no one. Not so easy to change back. Still, it is not for a man to tell a girl what must be done."

"I just can't. Not right now."

"Is a girl in love?"

"I am."

He was disappointed. "Then, a girl still has more courage than sense. The Guild has decided to release a girl from service, but if woman should ever decide to return, a woman is always welcome at the House of Black and White. Until then, this man has the honor of being a friend. Valar morghulis."

"Valar dohaeris." She rode to Sansa's house feeling the weight of her loss mixed fear and freedom. When she arrived, she found Sandor in the stable with Stranger, pulling wilted yellow roses from the horse's mane. She tossed the pack of new clothes to him. "Any progress?"

"Progress?"

"With Sansa? My sister. The one with the red hair."

"She's agreed to marry me."

"Already? What'd you do to her to make her accept so quickly?" She suggested naughtily.

"That's none of your business." He growled.

"So, you did do something to her. Hmm. Referenced a page of two from _Love in Essos, _I gather." She grinned.

"How'd you know about the book?" His question was more angry than curious.

"It's my book." She asserted.

"No. How did you know that I had it?" He walked toward her.

She was caught. "Well, Kellan isn't exactly a sellsword." His face was menacing as she explained. "He's a friend from the Brotherhood. . . ."

Sandor's mind flashed back to the cave and the brewhouse. His eyes grew with recognition.

"His real name is Gendry, and now that my mother is leading the Brotherhood . . . ."

He interrupted. "Your mother is dead, girl."

"Not exactly. I mean she was dead, but Beric Dondarrion . . . ."

He grabbed her and shook her. "What do you mean she's not dead? Does Sansa know?"

"No. I didn't want to shock her. My mother's condition is . . . difficult to describe, especially to someone who hasn't seen Beric. She looks ghastly and is greatly changed. But, we can't afford to wait a moon's turn to get you married. So, I will have to tell her, today."

"What's the rush with this wedding?" He eyed her suspiciously.

She couldn't tell him about the Ghost of High Heart's prophecy or the news from the South about Cersei's Robert Strong. So, she answered what she could. "There is a greater plan. First, you have to get your money from the Lannisters, because I fear they won't give it to you when they find out that you've wed a Stark and you're taking it to the North. The North has an alliance with Stannis, who is going to legitimize one of King Robert's bastard sons, and he happens to be Gendry. After that, we're to be married."

"And then?"

She hesitated. Gendry hadn't been smart enough to ask further. "My grandfather and uncle were killed by the Targaryens. So, we can't see the Dragon Queen can't sit the throne. The Greyjoys are traitors. My mother has sworn revenge on the Freys and the Lannisters, and Stannis had agreed to an alliance to exterminate them all. Stannis will sit the Iron throne, and the Starks will rule the North."

"Even Myrcella and Tommen?" Sandor looked disgusted.

"Gods, no! My father didn't believe in killing children."

He was relieved, but he thought to ask the question no one else had. "And when Stannis dies?"

She was nervous, never saying it aloud before, but thinking on it since Stannis suggested it. "It is possible, merely possible, that Stannis will name Gendry as his successor. I would be the Queen in the South while Sansa would be the Queen in the North."

"You're talking madness, girl!" Overwhelmed, he stopped asking questions.

"I hope I am. That would be many years and battles away. In the meantime, there is much work to be done. My Mother needs my sister to come home, and my sister needs your protection more than ever."

"I'm going with you to tell her about your Lady mother. She won't take it lightly. Say it gently, girl."

They found Sansa at her writing desk, and with as much enthusiasm as she could muster in her nervousness, Arya said, "Congratulations!"

"Thank you, Arya." Sansa reached for Sandor's hand as he moved to her side protectively.

"A moon's turn is too long for a betrothal in light of some information that I haven't shared with you." Sansa's questioning look forced Arya to continue. "Our mother is a . . . ."

Sandor gave Arya a look of warning.

"Is? Not was? What about our mother Arya? Is she alive?"

"Sort of."

Sansa rose from the chair. "What do you mean sort of? Is she in a long sleep like Bran was?"

"No. She died, but has returned from death with some injuries."

"You're making no sense!"

"You'll have to see her for yourself if you want to understand, Sansa. Some magic of sorts restored her, but she is changed, wounded and bent on revenge, and she needs desperately to see you."

"I must go to her!"

"You will. Your wedding cloaks will be ready tomorrow. The wedding will be the day after that. Find a Septon, and pack your things. We leave Lorath the day after the wedding. I need some sleep. I was awake all night."

Arya left the couple alone, and Sansa turned to future husband. "Is it possible?" She asked.

"Yes." He wouldn't ruin her excitement. She'd see her mother for herself soon enough.

She turned into his arms, crying. After her sobs turned quieter, he led her to the bed. He hadn't slept well during the night and assumed she hadn't either. She motioned for him to join her, and laid her head on his chest, quickly falling asleep. He stared at her ceiling, imagining. The thoughts began as doubts. _Robert's arrogant bastard on the Iron Throne with the wolf-bitch at his side calling the shots, and me, married to the Queen in the North! The day will never come._ His mind took him back to the Blackwater, to Stannis's army. _Stannis with the North behind him? He could succeed. _And finally as he drifted: _my little bird could be a queen without having to marry a King. I can protect a queen. _


	16. Chapter 16 Just a few kisses

It was nearly mid-day when Sandor awoke with the red-haired girl, so sweet and delicate, sleeping in his arms. As he lay on his side, looking down at Sansa's porcelain face, admiring her flawless skin and features, he couldn't resist running a finger along the soft line of her jaw. His eyes followed the curved lines of her body, and now that he had finally seen all of her, he pictured the details of her body under her dress. He wanted desperately to have her, and as he felt his lust rising, she stirred in her sleep.

He didn't want her to wake to the evidence of his arousal pressing against her thigh as it was, so he shifted away from her. In her half-sleep, she sensed his movement, and seeking his warmth, pushed her body closer to him. Unintentionally, she brought her hip pressing against his hardness, and as he grunted, her eyes opened, slowly. She rolled her hip against him, again, purposely, and caught his gaze. Her hands grabbed at the front of his tunic, silently pulling him toward her. _Just a few kisses. We'll be wedded soon enough._

Her kisses stirred his passion. He sipped her intoxicating lips, a wine which only he had ever tasted. Her open mouth was a provocative invitation inside of her, to know her deeper than her courteous exterior. Her tongue danced with his, a dance of silky seduction that only he had partnered. Her fingers sought to know him, appreciate him, in ways she'd known no other man. Years after giving up his hopes of ever feeling normal, she made him feel special, desired, loved.

She reached for the hem of his tunic, pulling it off, her whimper signifying her satisfaction with the powerful, muscled animal underneath. She discarded it, as he brought his mouth back down to hers. Her fingernails traced tickling patterns at his sides, his chest, and then his stomach. He felt her fingers at the waist of his breeches, gradually sneaking deeper into his smallclothes, his arousal increasing as her fingers crept closer to the base of his aching bulge. By the time he finally felt her fingers close gently around his fullness, he was straining for control. She pulled her tiny hand along the entire length of his shaft, toward the tip, and slipped her hand out of his breeches, reaching for his laces.

"May I?" Her courtesy drew out the torture and thrill of his anticipation, and he ached for the return of her touch.

"Gods, yes!" His answer was hoarse, gravelly, and desperate.

She unlaced him and slid his pants and smallclothes off his narrow waist, down his lean hips, and past his muscled thighs, and he stepped off the bed to kick them off. His unbound sex was throbbing, reaching, straining for her. She stopped and took in the sight of his tumescence. She licked her lips, and his swollen flesh twitched, craving the feeling that he knew those lips could bring. _But she would never. _Her eyes were on fire, and she stepped off the bed, doing the unthinkable: she got down on her knees in front of him, and she flicked her tongue across the head of his cock, tasting him. He sucked in a startled breath.

She teased him, slowly swiping the underside with her tongue, back and forth, end to end and he was shuddering as he rolled his head back, moaning from his urgency. His breathing was harsh and choppy, and he was growing dizzy with yearning, when she finally brought her lips together and drew him into carefully into the ecstasy of her warm mouth. Her tongue was ruthless in pleasuring him, despite her youth and inexperience, and the sight of her parted, swollen lips enveloping his manhood was more than he could take. He grew unsteady on his feet and pulled her to standing.

She stepped playfully, just out of his reach, and her eyes taunted him as she leisurely removed her dress. Then she lay back on the bed, spreading her thighs slightly, in a mock surrender.

He lowered himself onto the bed above her, and as he nudged her thighs wider with his knees, she granted him access. He rubbed his firmness against the folds of her womanhood, feeling the slickness of her excitement. He wanted to acquaint her with the sensation of his flesh against hers, to assure her that it would be pleasurable, to demonstrate there was nothing to fear when their wedding night came. His lips reclaimed hers, as he smoothly ran his rigid member from her swollen nub to her hot, moist entrance, rocking his hips slowly as he teased himself with her tender flesh. On the third pass, she arched her hips, and he was eased shallowly into her. She gasped.

He was jolted by the unexpected gesture and ready to apologize when he realized it was no accident, as she pushed down on the bunching muscles of his stony shoulders, coaxing him to continue. He hovered there for a moment, frozen, staring at her, his heart racing. Then, slowly he began pushing himself in painstaking degrees into her tight walls, until he could go no further, and withdrew. Trying desperately to be gentle, he was unsure how to guide himself into her again.

"It's all right." Her words were permission, but her look was more of a plea.

Determined, he returned with a sharp, driving, thrust. He felt her squirm underneath him, hiding her face in his shoulder and crying out as most of his length slid into her. The barrier was gone, and he sheathed himself in her tight center. Her body stretched to accommodate him, to accept him. He bit his lip, as he rocked slowly against her. She sighed each time he sank himself into her, again and again. He plunged deeper, exploring her, wanting to fill her completely, losing himself in the place she saved only for him. She was wildfire, burning him, melting him, consuming him. He felt the grip of her tight depths a few more times until his surges of pleasure brought him to a jarring, shuddering peak, and he burst inside her.

He unlocked his elbows, settling his weight onto his forearms, as he remained protectively posed above her, in the aftermath of his ecstasy. He noticed his perspiration first, then his ragged breath, then the wetness he saw on her eyelashes.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Don't lie." He remembered the girl's strength when she was beaten and her grace in covering her pain.

"It's a bit sensitive, sort of raw. I'm certain it will get better, maybe with a bath. The Septa said that the middle of my moon cycle is the best time for relations, and that's today and tomorrow. So, I'm sure I'll be fine."

He rolled onto his side next to her, and she moved to sitting against the bed pillows. She was teasing at his hair with her fingers, when he looked down and discovered the bloody mess they'd made of the bed coverings. "I meant to wait." He looked like a guilty puppy.

"I know you did. So did I."

"You're sister is stupid." His statement had no context, and she was truly bewildered.

"Really, you think so?"

"She thinks that I love you, and that I've loved you since King's Landing."

"Why does she say such ridiculous things?" It was all a jape to her, as she always assumed that he loved her, though he'd never actually said it.

"Aye." He agreed. "She should know better."

"Truly?"

"Aye. I've loved you since the Kingsroad." He rested his head on her belly.


End file.
